Whiteout
by RainFlame
Summary: When the train to Central is delayed due to weather, Ed decides to walk the rest of the way. As the freezing weather blows in, Ed and Al are forced to face an unsettled issue of their past and Roy becomes an unsuspecting witness to a chink in Ed's armor. Rated for injury, just to be safe. Eventual Parental!Roy Ed and Al. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

"It's your turn, Brother," Alphonse said, his voice pitched low as to not disturb the car-full of sleeping passengers.

The voice yanked Ed from his dark thoughts and back to the game. He examined his hand carefully in the dim light, resituating his Queen of Hearts to sit next to the King. He then reached across the table and plucked a card from the top of the deck. A six of diamonds. He tossed it on the pile with a huff and turned to gaze blearily out the window at the dark scenery rushing by. It felt like they'd been stuck on this train all day! At least there was only one more stop till Central, then he'd really light into that idiot colonel. He was always sending him and Al to the farthest corners of the world on his pointless missions. Investigate a vehicle factory, of all things! Surely the military had more important things to worry about.

"Brother?" Al asked, breaking his train of thought.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" His tone was innocent enough, but Ed sensed the cautious undertone beneath it. He probably assumed Edward was thinking about _that_, which Ed was most certainly not thinking of.

Ed turned his head to regard his little brother. "I'm fine, Al. Just thinking."

"That's unusual for you," he said, a smile in his voice as he shifted a giant gauntlet to draw a card.

Ed scowled. "I don't need your opinion," he muttered, though there was really no fire behind the words. He was too tired to do much more than feign grumpiness. Long train rides always took a lot out of him, but he didn't want to nod off and leave Al by himself. Especially not tonight . . .

"I can't wait to get back to our dorms. We've been staying in that creepy hotel with their crappy mattress for way too many nights." The 'investigation' had taken a whole week to go over, with ledgers to view, inspections to make, and tours of the whole city. Every night they had come back to a grungy hotel that squeaked and creaked all night long and nearly drove Edward mad.

Oh, yes, he was definitely looking forward to spending some quality time with his mattress when he got back to Central.

The train's intercom suddenly crackled to life, "Good evening ladies and gentleman, we are now approaching the city of Rejo. Due to weather warnings, we will not be continuing on to Central Station this evening. We apologize for any—"

"Weather warnings?" Ed demanded, shooting a glance out the window. It seemed like a nice evening outside. Maybe a little nippy, but the sky was clear. "There's not a cloud in the sky!"

"Guess it's another hotel mattress tonight," Al said teasingly, starting to gather the cards into one large hand.

"Wait a second!" Ed shoved all his 'chips' to the center of their table. His chips consisted mostly of bits of chalk, peanuts and candy wrappers. "All in!"

Al gave him a suspicious look. "The only reason you would go all in is if you knew you were going to win. And the only way you'd know that was if you cheated. And you always cheat. So reasoning says-"

"Aw, come on, Al! I don't cheat!"

"Except for maybe all the time," Al countered, gathering all of the cards, despite Ed's protests, and putting them away inside his chest plate.

"How can you say that about your own brother?" Ed pouted, gathering his chips back up and scooping them into his pocket. Normally he would probably have made more of a fight about it, but he just didn't have it in him tonight. First off, tomorrow was the anniversary of that day. But that aside, he was tired, and the news that they wouldn't be making it back to their dorm tonight only added to his foul mood. The card game just didn't seem that important anymore.

He leaned his head back in the seat and sighed, raising his flesh hand to massage his shoulder around the port. Maybe there really was a storm coming in. His automail was starting to ache.

He felt eyes on him. "What is it, Al?" he sighed, letting his eyes close.

Al squeaked in surprise, then asked timidly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

He had to stop acting like this. Al was probably upset enough as it was, and his pathetic complaints weren't helping. At least he had flesh to ache and would be able to sleep tonight, nightmares aside. Al would be left all alone to brood by himself until morning.

He lifted his head and plastered a smile on his face. "I'm fine, Al. Just thinking about what kind of crappy hotel we'll have to stay in this time."

He could tell Al didn't buy it, but his brother didn't press, so Ed pretended everything was alright. That was one of Ed's specialties, after all.

The train slowed and the brakes screeched as the giant locomotive settled next to the platform. Ed got up and made his way through the sleepy passengers, Al following behind with their suitcase. They made it out into the night air and Ed inhaled deeply. It was a cool spring night, with clear skies and a breeze rustling the trees. Ed regarded the rundown town before them with disdain, his eyes watching the crowd of people head for only inn. No doubt it would fill up in no time. And in a backwards town like this, who knew what kind of awful sleeping conditions awaited him in that hotel . . .

He made a snap decision.

"Come on, Al, let's walk the rest of the way." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped off the platform, following the tracks into the night.

"But what about the storm?" Al squeaked, hurrying to catch up.

"What's the big deal? I don't see any clouds, do you?" he asked, trudging ahead through the first bits of spring grass. "It's a nice evening. If we book it, we can be back at the dorms by two. And that'll give me an excuse to be late for my report tomorrow." He smirked at that thought. That would serve that lousy Colonel right.

"Since when did you need an excuse?"

"Good point," Ed allowed with a contented sigh. It felt nice to stretch his legs after most of the day crammed in a train. Even with the unpleasant throbbing of his artificial joints, that pain was preferable over the kind he would experience once he settled down to sleep tonight. Maybe if he worked his body enough over the next few hours, he would be too tired to dream of that man . . .

"Are you sure this is a good idea, brother?" Al asked, settling into pace beside him. He turned to look at the sky, as if searching with his eyes to make up for what he couldn't feel with his body. He had no way of knowing that the temperature was dropping a bit, or how cold the breeze was. "If there's bad weather coming in, we don't want to get caught out in it."

"It'll be fine, Al," Ed assured him. "We've walked plenty of times."

Al didn't seem happy about it, but didn't press it anymore.

They settled into an easy silence. Ed did his best to keep his mind on the ground before him. There wasn't much moon out, so it was fairly dark, and the last thing Ed wanted was to trip in a hole. There were plenty of miles between Rejo and Central, and four hours was a long walk with a twisted ankle.

Anything to keep from thinking of that lowlife of a father . . .

"Brother?"

"Hmm?" he said distractedly, picking his way over a pile of rocks.

"Can you tell me about dad?"

Ed almost forgot to put his foot down and stumbled, bumping into Al. He regained his footing and glared up at the suit of armor before fixing his eyes firmly on the tracks. He had been expecting the question, but not until tomorrow, at least. "What for? He doesn't matter anymore."

"I . . . I'd just like to know. I don't remember much about him—"

"Then count yourself lucky," Ed spat, crossing his arms to keep the chill at bay. Or maybe he was subconsciously trying to put up a barrier between himself and all these thoughts. Every year, it was the same thing; the anniversary of their father's disappearance brought forth questions from Al, and Ed would do his best to avoid answering them. It was better that Al forgot their old man entirely than live with the two-faced lies Ed did. He could remember his father smiling at him, teaching him to catch, playing with him and Al at the kitchen table like a real family. And then he could remember that cold, closed look as his father turned away from them and walked out the front door and out of their lives forever.

"I know you didn't like him, but I don't remember enough to know for myself." Al's voice turned pleading, subtly pressuring him to reveal everything he knew.

Ed kept his gaze glued on the ground in front of him. "What's to know? The scumbag upped and left us. Do yourself a favor and forget about him." _And let me do the same._

"But that's not fair, brother! You remember him, don't you? What was he like?"

"Drop it, Al." His voice took on a dangerous edge that he didn't often use on his little brother. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Brother-"

"_No_."

Al shut up and they kept walking, though Ed could sense the barrier between them now, a silent wall the stifled any attempt at casual conversation. He had hurt Al's feelings, but that was better than knowing the truth, right? At least he could save him that much pain.

They moved through the night, and Ed was getting nervous. The wind suddenly picked up, whipping his coat about his calves and ripping any warmth he had accumulated away from him in a rush. He glanced overhead and around the trees, he could make out a head of clouds rolling steadily toward them.

"Stupid weather," Ed muttered, hugging his coat closer around him.

"Well, maybe we should have spent the night in Rejo, like I suggested," All said bitingly. There was no small amount of resentment in his voice and Ed fought the urge to cringe from it. Al didn't often get mad, but when he did, it was kind of scary. Ed's anger was constant and explosive, like a burst of a firecracker that left him drained and finished until the next thing set him off. Al's, on the other hand, was a slowly building storm that hovered, drenching everyone around in his sullen mood until he finally snapped.

Ed didn't want to see that snap. So instead of making some kind of hotheaded jibe, he just grunted and wrapped his arms tighter against his body.

Who says Ed can't be tactful?

It didn't take long for his flesh and artificial joints to start freezing up, responding slower and slower as the temperature dropped. Al was soon walking ahead of him, not even sparing him a second glance as Ed's pace slowed. He did all in his power to keep his teeth from chattering, even as goose bumps flared all over his skin. It was just a little cold. There wasn't anything to get worked up over. In another couple of hours he would be nice and warm in his dorm, drinking hot chocolate and curled up in thin, military-issued blankets. Maybe he would even sneak into Mustang's office after hours so he could take advantage of that fireplace.

He had to get there, first, though. And Al certainly wasn't being much help. Well, if he positioned himself just right, he made a pretty decent wind block . . .

The metal of his automail was starting to affect the skin around it. He could feel his shoulder and what was left of his leg grow colder by the minute. If this kept up, he was going to get frostbite before too long, and it wasn't even snowing!

A snowflake flew from the darkness and lodged itself in his eye.

"Ack!" he shouted, wiping his stinging eye furiously. "Great. Just great," he mumbled to no one in particular. This was just his luck. 'Cause he was lucky lucky lucky—

He glared sullenly at Al's retreating back. He was getting even further ahead of him, but Ed wasn't going to call out to him. He had earned his anger, after all, and to call out to him now would be akin to apologizing for protecting him. And that was something he would never apologize for.

Not long later, the snow was coming down hard, and Ed was stumbling almost blindly through it. It was all he could do to keep following the train tracks that were slowly disappearing under a layer of white. Al had disappeared from his view long ago. Ed wasn't worried about him, though. The worst he would suffer in this weather was maybe frozen joints, and possibly rust afterward. Both of those would be easy to deal with.

He just had to keep walking, though he was having a hard time remembering where he was going, exactly. Someplace warm, he was sure. Someplace to get out of all of this cold.

And his arm was killing him! All the stupid cold was starting to affect the machine, making the fingers twitch and the port burn with icy pain. Maybe he should just take the stupid thing off. That might make the pain go away, right?

He reached under his coat, clumsily snaking his hand to his artificial armpit and fumbling the catch with frozen, uncoordinated fingers. He finally managed to flip the mechanism and his arm disconnected with an audible pop. He staggered drunkenly to the side with the sudden loss of weight, but righted himself and grinned when he found that it didn't hurt at all. The cold was good for something after all, right? He couldn't even tell the arm wasn't there anymore, really. It didn't feel any different, anyways.

He slung the freed appendage over his shoulder like some kind of prize and stalked through the snow with renewed vigor. It really wasn't even cold anymore! What had he been complaining about earlier? Seriously, this was nothing. He didn't even need his coat anymore. With a flair, he slipped his only remaining arm through the sleeve and let the wind tug it free, wrapping it around his automail arm like a flag.

"Ha! King of the Snow!" he giggled, waving his flag like a conqueror. He started to set off again, but then there was that pesky pain in his left leg. Maybe he should take that automail off, too.

He plopped down in the snow, trying to figure out the best way to get to the leg. After several moments of fruitless clawing and scrabbling however, he couldn't figure out how to undo his belt to go after the artificial leg. He supposed it would have to stay, then. It was too much trouble to take it off, anyhow. Then he'd have two limbs to carry and not enough limbs to carry them with.

That thought made him giggle. Two limbs to carry and not enough to carry them with. He was pretty clever, actually.

He was struck with a thought. Shouldn't he be moving? He was almost certain he was going somewhere. And wasn't there someone there with him, too? He stared into the whiteout but couldn't see anything but the snow. It was halfway up his back now, seeping into his clothes and soaking him to the bone from where he was sprawled on the ground.

Maybe he would look for whoever it was he was with after he had rested a while. It wouldn't hurt anything to close his eyes for a bit, and he was so tired—

Someone screamed his name from far away, but he couldn't wake up enough to care, much less respond.

Edward leaned back into the soft whiteness, letting the cold reality bleed away into white nothingness as he let sleep take him.

* * *

_I'm no doctor, but I'm trying to keep this as accurate as mayoclinic .com allows me lol. Obviously Ed's experiencing some pretty severe hypothermia here, with the poor decision making, confusion, and apathy about his situation. _

_This'll be one, maybe two chapters more. A pretty short one. Just one of the fifty FMA ideas that won't leave me alone._

_Hope you enjoyed enough to stick around and see this through with me :)_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	2. Chapter 2

Alphonse scrambled through the snow, pushing forward as fast as his body would allow. He had backtracked for almost a quarter mile and still no sign of Ed. "Brother! BROTHER!" he screamed into the blizzard. Where was he? How could he have gotten so far behind?

And how could Al have been so stupid! He was so mad, so intent on giving Ed the cold shoulder that he didn't even think about what the weather was doing to him. Just because Al couldn't feel the cold didn't mean Ed wouldn't. What if he was lost? This blizzard would kill him if he didn't find shelter soon!

The snow was almost halfway up his shins and continuing to pile up at an alarming rate, and his big brother was nowhere to be found.

Al didn't have a heart, but he felt like there was one being ripped out of his chest.

"EDWARD!" his voice cracked with a sob at the end. If he couldn't find him . . . if he died because of his selfish stupidity. . .

No. He wouldn't think like that. He refused. He would find Ed and he would be fine. He couldn't bear to believe otherwise.

Al kept moving, though his joints were starting to freeze up and the suit of armor was becoming difficult to manipulate. He kept going until he was certain he was halfway back to Rejo.

Then he saw red. The color whipped frantically in the wind, as if clamoring for Al's attention on its owner's behalf.

Al practically ran to it.

The coat had been tied to something that, upon closer inspection, revealed itself to be Ed's automail arm, sticking up in the air at an odd angle. Al staggered to the prosthetic and pulled on it. It came away much more easily than Al anticipated and he soon realized he was holding onto nothing but the arm, with no brother attached to the other side.

He choked on a wail of despair. "Brother!" he called again for what must have been the hundredth time. Ed wouldn't just leave his arm! Had something happened to him? Had he been attacked? "ED!" he cried, clutching the coat and arm to his chest as he lunged forward with renewed frenzy.

He tripped.

Al fell heavily and face-planted in the snow, the icy fluff packing into his visor and obscuring his vision. He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head and limbs to try to dislodge the white, a weak moan drifting through the wind.

That wasn't him . . .

He turned around, heart in his throat as he scrambled back to the mound that had tripped him. "Ed?" he asked, raking back snow with his huge hands, each stroke more frantic than the last. "Ed, is that you? Answer me!" His next swipe uncovered gold in the snow. He kept digging, slowly revealing a small body, curled in on itself and unmoving.

"Oh, Ed! Brother, can you hear me?" Al prodded him gently, hoping to illicit some kind of reaction from him, but Ed never stirred. All his visible skin had turned a terrible shade of blue and his eyes were closed. He looked like painted stone, the only sign of life a very shallow rise and fall of his chest.

What was he supposed to do? His armor had to be freezing! Touching Ed might only give him frostbite, or worse, but he had to get him out of the snow and someplace warm and dry.

_Think Al, think! What would Ed do? _

He looked around, searching for something, anything in his surroundings that would help. His eyes locked on the forest.

Trees! Wood was insulating, right? If he could convert it into something more malleable . . .

"Hang on, Brother." He stumbled toward the nearest tree, resting a hand on the trunk. This one should be big enough. He reached into his waist pouch and withdrew a stick of chalk, sketching a transmutation circle on the smooth bark and holding his hands out over it. He poured his energy into the transmutation, coaxing the individual fibers of the tree to bend to his will. In a second, he had a pile of woodchips at his feet, the topmost bits already swirling away in the wind.

He wasted no time opening up his chest plate and packing the stuff inside. When he was satisfied, he clamored back to his brother. "I know you probably won't like this, but I don't think we have a lot of choice," Al told him. He took the coat from his discarded limb and gingerly wrapped his older brother in its folds, careful not to touch his flesh with his metal body. Then he placed his brother inside of the armor on the bed of chips and shut the plate behind him.

He picked up the arm and carefully got to his feet. "Okay, guess we'd better get moving," he said, setting off into the blizzard for Central as fast as he dared.

The going was far from easy. The colder it got, the harder it was for him to move, and with his delicate cargo shifting around inside of him, he was easily off balanced. He almost fell more than once, barely regaining his equilibrium in time to avoid smacking Ed around inside of him.

On top of that, worry was starting to eat away at him. Now that he had nothing to do but keep moving, his mind was assaulted with numerous worst-case scenarios, and he could feel the beginnings of panic fluttering inside of him. Ed was in bad shape, and his life was hinging on Al being able to make it to civilization in time.

"I'm sorry, Ed. This is all my fault," Al said, speaking more for his sake than his brothers. Al knew himself well enough to know he was on the verge of hysteria. He did not possess the doggedness his brother had. He was scared, and without Ed's strength to lean on, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it together. "I was just so mad . . . I know you don't like talking about dad, but I just kept pushing you. I guess I keep hoping that maybe if you'll just talk about it, you won't hate him as much."

He paused, then continued hesitantly, "I keep thinking that after all of this is over, after we get our bodies back, maybe we could find him and maybe be something like a family again," he admitted. It was something he would never tell Edward if he were conscious. He had never told anyone his secret yearning. It was so simple and childish that Al was almost ashamed of it, yet there it was. He couldn't remember a time when they were a whole family, but he remembered being loved and being safe and he missed it.

And Ed tried, by the Gate, he tried. After their father had left, Ed had tried to fill his shoes, doing all the "dad" chores around the house and teaching Al all the things fathers ought to teach their children. Then again, when their mom died, he tried fill in the void left in Al's life from her absence. He tried to be the disciplinarian, teacher, guide, caretaker, and friend. Al had grown up deciding there was nothing his big brother couldn't do, and no one could touch him if Ed was by his side. Al watched him bend over backwards, but the older he got, the more he saw the strain on Ed. At times he even thought he would shatter under the ridiculously high standards he had set for himself.

And Al ended up wishing that Ed had someone like that there for him.

"If we had a dad again, maybe you could feel safe, too."

"What're you . . . goin' on 'bout?" a slurred voice muttered.

"Brother!" Al stiffened, not sure if he should be thrilled Ed was awake, or horrified that he had heard something he shouldn't. "Are you okay? You scared me to death!" He decided he should go with the former.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Dad . . ." he paused, and Alphonse tensed mentally, prepared for some kind of rebuke for talking the way he had, but Ed didn't say what he'd expected. "I think he loved us, once," he admitted weakly. He didn't sound at all like himself. Aside from the slurring and the halted speech, he sounded . . . younger. There was no wall there, no false bravado and no temper. The cold must have worn away his defenses, leaving nothing but raw emotion in its wake. "I think maybe he loved all of us. But somethin' changed, and he stopped. And after that, he pretended to love us. And then he couldn't keep pretending. So he left."

Al was afraid to speak, afraid that if he did, his brother would close up and he would never talk like this again. He just kept walking, trying to keep his steps smooth.

"And I can't forgive him for that. For leaving you and Mom. And . . . for leaving me. Leaving us to do this by ourselves."

The halting flow of words stopped. Al waited for more, but when none came, he dared to call his brother's name.

No response.

"Brother, are you awake? Come on, you need to stay awake!" he pounded a leather gauntlet to the side of his body.

"Mmph," Ed grunted faintly. "Too tired. Keep watch, will ya?"

Keep watch? He was losing his grip on reality. "Ed, you have to stay awake!" Al implored, pushing ahead as fast as his legs would allow. "Don't fall asleep. Tell me what dad was like?" Even if that question was met with a flare of Ed's temper, it would be a good thing. Anything to keep him talking.

Al could practically hear Ed's frown as he tried to figure out if the question was worth postponing sleep for. Finally, he spoke. "He was tall. Really tall," he added with some petulance, as if he were to be blamed somehow for Ed's small stature. "He would hold you and you would feel safe. We used to play catch in the front yard, when you were too small. He . . . he always let me win at . . ."

"Win at what?" Al pressed. They had to be getting close to Central by now!

"Hide 'n seek," Ed said, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the howling winds. "We would play . . . in the summer . . . until the snow . . . "

"Snow?" He was probably losing his hold on consciousness, just saying whatever came to mind. That wasn't a good sign . . .

"He left . . .before it could snow . . ."

Alphonse was suddenly aware of a faint golden glow in the near distance, growing steadily closer with each step he took. If he'd had the capacity, he would have sworn it was his own wishful thinking making him hallucinate, but no. It was Central. They were almost there!

"Hang on, Brother! Just a little further!"

Ed didn't respond.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

It was cold.

Mustang hated the cold.

Perhaps it was due to his natural abilities with fire, or maybe he was just plain cold-natured, but every time the first snow storm of the year blew in, Mustang's mood shifted into something dark and foul.

He was not at all in the mood for paperwork.

"I'm not going to work tomorrow," he announced boldly, casting a level gaze on his bowl of soup with much authority. "Hawkeye can't make me." As soon as he said those words, he cringed, as if uttering her name would somehow summon her to his kitchen, gun in hand. When she found out he wasn't in his office in the morning, she might very well hunt him down and shoot him . . .

"I'm working, though," he reasoned, glancing at the generous pile of paperwork strewn about his kitchen table. Granted most of it was underneath what was left of his dinner, a load of laundry, and several books on fire alchemy, but it was the thought that counted, right? And if he got too bored with his work, he wouldn't do a good job. He was only taking a break to increase productivity. Really, Hawkeye should be proud.

"So why do I feel like she's going to shoot me anyway?" he sighed, slumping in his chair. Another thought occurred to him, and he frowned. "And why am I talking to myself?" He glared out the frosted windows at the storm. It was probably the stupid weather, making him do stupid things . . .

With an irritated growl, he got up and started to clear the table, washing plates and putting leftover soup in the icebox. If he was going to risk skipping work, he had better get busy making a sizable dent in his paperwork. Then maybe tomorrow he would have time for some fire alchemy research. Ah, that would be nice. He hadn't taken a personal day for research in months.

All of his carefully laid plans were shattered with a single knock on his door.

Actually, it was more of a pounding that scared him senseless and caused him to drop a freshly cleaned glass, sending bright shards shooting across the tiles and skittering underfoot. He yelped in surprise, then muttered a curse before gingerly stepping around the mess and for his front door.

"This had better be important," he growled, reaching for the knob as he gathered some decidedly unkind words for whoever had the gall to bother him when he was this grumpy. What kind of idiot was even out in this weather? Hughes was the only one he could think of stupid enough to make the attempt. He wrenched the doorknob free and the door flew open, caught on a gust of frozen wind. It nearly smacked him in the forehead on its way by, doing nothing for his mood. "WHAT in the name of all—"

The rest of the words died on his lips when he saw Al at his doorstep. The suit of armor was covered in ice, and snow was packed in his every vent and crevice. His red eyes, however, were clear and gazing at him with such intense anguish that Roy almost took a step back. "Al, what . . ." he started.

Before Roy could utter another word, Al opened his chest plate with a groan of frozen metal, revealing a familiar form curled up inside. Roy recognized the figure with a jolt of dread.

Ed looked . . . awful. His blond hair was frozen at odd angles, his prosthetic arm was completely missing and his skin was a sickening shade of blue. The boy was laying there completely still, a drastic contrast to how Roy was used to seeing him. Roy realized with a flutter of panic that he wasn't even sure if the kid was breathing.

"Please, Colonel." Al whispered, voice small and desperate. "Help him."

* * *

Cliffy! xD Kind of.

Anyways, only one more chapter to go, and maybe an epilogue if I feel the need. I'm playing this one by ear.

Drop a review, if you feel so inclined! I love hearing your thoughts :) See you next time! C:

God Bless,

-RainFlame


	3. Chapter 3

Roy himself froze for about four seconds before he was able to get his wits about him. Then his training took over, shoving emotion and irrelevant questions to the side so he could focus. He practically dragged the suit of armor over his threshold and forced the door shut against the gale. "What happened?" he demanded, staring at Ed. "Is he injured?" he didn't want to risk moving him too suddenly if there was some kind of head trauma.

"I don't think so, but I don't know! I lost him for almost an hour," Al whimpered, wringing his hands and staring inside himself at the precious cargo he carried. "I found him buried in the snow. His arm was disconnected," he held out the appendage that had been tucked under his own arm for emphasis. "Please Colonel, you have to help him!"

"I will," Roy assured him, tearing his gaze away from his brother to look the youngest Elric in the eyes. "But I need you to get a hold of yourself, Alphonse. I'll need your help."

"Yes, sir, anything! What can I do?"

Mustang glanced back down at the blond, mind racing wildly through all of his experience and research. He had never dealt with hypothermia before. The war in Ishval had made him intimately familiar with heatstroke and the standard treatments, but hypothermia was new for him. He knew enough to know he had to get Ed out of that cold metal and the wet clothes and do something to raise his temperature. He also knew that raising it too fast would be a death sentence for the boy.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to take risks where Ed was concerned.

"We're probably dealing with severe hypothermia. I'm going to pick him up. Once I have him, go to my lab in the basement and look for a book titled _'1000 Home Treatments'_ on the shelf. Look up hypothermia and come read it to me. I'm going to get him out of his wet clothes and into something dry."

Al nodded. "Okay, anything!"

Roy winced at the slightly hysteric edge in Al's voice, but didn't call attention to it. His brother was almost frozen. Roy supposed he was entitled to be a little bit hysterical about the whole thing.

Roy took a steadying breath and leaned forward into Al's armor. It was almost as cold inside of him as it was outside! Without wasting any more time, Roy gently slid his hands under Ed's back and legs, inhaling sharply at how cold the boy's skin felt. He picked up the lopsided bundle as carefully as he knew how, drawing him out into the warm air in a flurry of woodchips.

"Go, Al," he ordered, his eyes glued to the bundle in his arms. Aside from looking awful, he weighed a ton! Even without his automail arm, Roy had to strain under the load. How could anything this small weigh so much?

If Ed had heard him thinking those thoughts . . .

Al moved, his metal body groaning loudly as he struggled to move the frozen limbs forward to carry his soul to the basement. Even without an expression to read, Roy could feel the boy's anxiety radiating from him in waves. He reminded himself to talk to the boy later. For now though, he had other matters to attend to . . .

"What did you get yourself into this time, Fullmetal?" he asked softly, carrying the child as quickly as he dared down the hall and to the bedroom. He stepped over to the bed, knocking aside a pile of clothes with a swipe of his foot, and set Ed on the maroon duvet, conscientious of the boy's frozen skin.

Roy then took a moment to take stock of his vitals. He pressed two fingers to the side of Ed's neck, waiting a nerve-wracking seven seconds for a single pulse to press back. The next one came eight seconds later, then again after a little over seven seconds. There was nothing strong about the pulse, and his breathing was frighteningly slow. Roy placed a hand on the boy's forehead, cringing at how cold the flesh was, almost like a cooling corpse . . .

_He's so still . . ._

Mustang snapped his hand back. Those thoughts were useless, and certainly not doing Ed any good. He had to get it together! Ed needed him, and his stupid feelings were doing more harm than good.

He pulled out a drawer from his dresser, ripping out clothing until he fell upon some thick sweats and a sweater. He snagged them and several woolen socks, and on an afterthought, fetched a towel from the bathroom. He then returned to Ed's side, setting down his bundle to sit next to the child and carefully tried to unwrap the layers of both wet and frozen clothes.

It was tedious work when he was attempting to be both gentle and fast, trying to work the uncooperative clothing around Fullmetal's equally uncooperative limbs while also trying to keep his gaze averted from most of the boy to preserve his dignity.

It was probably a blessing the boy was unconscious for this. If he were awake, Roy doubted either of them would be able to get through it.

Finally he managed to disentangle the boy from the clothes' frigid grasp and dropped the last garment on the floor with a wet slap. He took the towel and went about removing the moisture from Ed's skin, taking a moment to inspect the automail ports as he went. He was not happy with the way the skin around them had turned white and almost rubbery under his careful hands. Frostbite?

"Al, hurry up!" he shouted. What was taking the kid so long? His basement wasn't that much of a wreck . . . if he remembered correctly.

"Coming!" Sure enough, he could hear the suit of armor clanking down the hall, albeit slowly. There was no doubt that the metal needed maintenance after being subjected to such severe weather, but that would wait.

Al appeared in the doorway, taking in his brother's prone form with obvious worry. "I brought the book. How is he?" Though the concern was still there, it seemed the boy's panic had dissipated somewhat.

"Still out. Tell me what it says to do about hypothermia and frostbite," he ordered, doing his best to towel off the boy's hair.

Al began to read, Roy listening with rapt attention. Do not move the patient suddenly, do not rewarm the patient quickly. Treat the hypothermia before the frostbite. Roy had already gotten rid of the wet clothing and gotten him dry. The next step was to warm his core back up, slowly. No hot baths or heaters, and ignore arms and legs for now to prevent sending cool blood back to the heart and causing further cooling of the core.

Upon hearing the bath and shower were unacceptable treatment options, Roy began to gently clothe the boy in his old garments.

"How are we supposed to warm him up?" he asked.

"Um, it says a warm body helps—"

Roy choked on the air he had just taken in. "I am _not_ snuggling with Fullmetal. End of story. Next."

Al looked back at the text. "It just says no direct heat. We can put him in a sleeping bag and put warm water-bottles around it. It just says no direct heat, so that would be okay, right?" he looked uncertainly to Roy for confirmation.

Roy nodded. "There's a sleeping bag in the hall closet and some winter coats. Go grab them." He turned his attention back to the boy in his arms, threading his only arm through the sleeve of a sweater that was twice his size and maneuvering his icy flesh foot into three woolen socks. Once that was done, Roy went to the other side of the bed, ripping the covers back and waiting for Al to return.

Together, they got him settled in the sleeping bag under the covers, with hot water-bottles and a pile of wool coats over him. When they were finished, there were only a few strands of blonde hair visible under the mound. The kid looked like some kind of hibernating animal.

With a heavy sigh, Roy slumped into the small chair by the bed. There was nothing they could do for Ed now but wait.

"What happened, Al?" Roy finally voiced the question that had been plaguing his mind for the past forty minutes.

Alphonse jumped a little at being addressed so suddenly, then sat down on the floor beside Roy, letting his gaze wonder back to the pile of material that was Ed. "It was all my fault. I was just so stupid . . ." He paused, eyes wondering to his lap. Then he recounted what had happened after the train stopped at Rejo, including Edward's stupid decision to walk, how he had made Al mad and Al left him behind, and how Al had gone back to find him buried in the snow and walked all the way to Central with his brother inside his armor, stopping only when he had reached the Colonel's front door.

He explained everything except what had made him mad at Edward. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty serious to make Al angry. Roy had never seen Al irritated, much less angry before.

After he was done, he fell silent and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, as if expecting Mustang's judgment to come down on him in a fiery rain.

"The hospital would have been a better destination," was all Roy had to offer tiredly. If there was anyone to blame, it was Fullmetal for being so stupid in the first place.

Al shook his head slowly. "The hospital was too far away. I didn't think . . . If I didn't get him someplace warm soon, I thought he'd . . ." Al made a gulping noise, which sounded strange coming from someone with no throat, and fell silent once again.

That thought settled in Roy's mind uneasily. They weren't out of the woods yet, as far as Ed's life was concerned. Any longer out in the cold, though, and Roy might have been wasting all this effort warming up a corpse.

Roy shoved that thought away and let his eyes fall on Al. Despite being a suit of armor, the kid looked, well, tired. Maybe he could become exhausted, not in the physical sense of the word, but in an emotional one. Roy was well accustomed to the weariness that came from blaming oneself and caring for a sick or injured loved one, but he hadn't been introduced to those kinds of hardships until he was older.

Al was just a kid. It was hard to remember that sometimes, with how big his physical vessel was and the way he took everything in stride, following his brother without complaint. But he was a child, terrified of losing the one person in this world he depended on and blaming all of it on himself.

"It's not your fault, kid," Roy said, averting his gaze to stare at Ed. "Fullmetal knew what he was getting into, or should have known anyways. You're not responsible for this."

"You don't understand . . . it is my fault. I kept pushing him for answers when he just didn't want to talk about it. I guess I can't blame him, but I just . . . miss it so much . . ." a small sob echoed through his armor, making Roy wince. "And now I did this to him! I can't do anything right for him! I only cause him trouble, and he's almost died because of me!"

Roy regarded the tin boy thoughtfully, his mind struggling to find a comforting sentence or phrase, anything he could use to give the kid some peace. He was not good at this. "Al, where do you think he'd be if you weren't there? He'd be dead right now if you hadn't been out there with him."

Alphonse didn't meet his eyes, but he nodded. Roy knew he was nowhere near convinced, but maybe that would do for now. Maybe he just needed time.

"Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up?" Roy suggested. When Al hesitated, the colonel gave him a small smile. "I'll watch Ed. We don't want you rusting, now, do we?"

Al nodded numbly and got up, his body protesting loudly at the movement. He shuffled off to the bathroom down the hall, casting uncertain looks at his brother as we went.

Once he was gone, Roy let his head drop to the wall behind him with a _thunk_. These boys . . . what were they doing to him?

Roy remembered just a few years ago when he had first laid eyes on the Elric brothers; Al was a traumatized child locked in a suit of armor, too clumsy and scared and not knowing his own strength. He would practically tiptoe through the Rockbell home, trying his best not to break anything or hurt anyone. It was almost painful to watch how he longed to be near his big brother, but was too afraid he would so something and injure him further.

And Ed . . . well, he didn't even seem human the first time Roy saw him. He was a ghost of a child, sitting in that wheelchair, half his limbs gone and staring at nothing while he mentally destroyed himself for his stupid decisions that had hurt his brother so. He couldn't even look at Al, for fear of the blame and hate he would find in those soul-fire eyes.

When Roy had first seen them, he pitied them. He really did, but it was nothing more than the sympathy one might give a stranger with a broken arm. He was an outside observer to their suffering, but he saw an opportunity there; a selfish opportunity to take these boys and make them his little soldiers, adding them to the rungs of a ladder that would lead to him becoming Fuhrer.

And that's how it was their first few months under him. They were his pawns in his magnificent game of chess, their only real value Ed's results and how it made Mustang look. They mostly did what they were told, in exchange for anything he could dredge up about the Philosopher Stone. He fed them a steady diet of old research and barely-worth-mentioning leads, and they dutifully went where Ed was ordered.

But somewhere along the way, Roy started to care.

He cared about how little sleep Ed seemed to be getting and would send him on a few easy missions with longer train rides. He cared about how thin Ed became after he got sick and asked Hughes' wife to make him some soup. He cared about how Al missed his brother so much it made him a ball of nerves when Ed was sent out on solo assignments, so he tried to make every mission allow for both brothers.

And now Al was hurting and blaming himself and Ed was frozen and half dead in his bed.

And he cared so much it hurt.

"D . . . d . . .ad . . ."

The slurred remark brought Roy from his musings and to the lump in front of him. He sat up, leaning in closer to his subordinate. Did he just call out for his father?

"Dad, please," the voice murmured. It didn't sound like Ed, though. It sounded small and broken and those were two things Ed never sounded like. It made Roy's heart clench in his chest.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry. Jus' don't leave us . . . please." The mound of blankets gave a tortured sob and shifted restlessly.

The activity and babbling were probably a good sign, but Roy almost wished Ed would stop. It was a selfish thought, but Roy didn't want to hear him crying . . . it defied everything that was Edward Elric and shook Roy to the core.

Or maybe it just hurt him too much to see Ed in such pain . . .

"Ed?" he tried. Maybe he was awake. Maybe he would wake up the rest of the way and he would stop sounding like the broken child he was, and more like the young man Roy knew how to deal with. He reached out a tentative hand, closing his fingers around the fabrics and slowly pulling them back to reveal the boy's face. Ed's skin was starting to return to a healthier color, though it was still tinged with blue. His hair was still damp and arrayed around his head like a sad golden halo, and his face was pinched in an anguished expression amidst the tears trailing down his skin.

Roy wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but he placed a hand on his cool forehead, swiping back the boy's thick bangs in an almost paternal gesture.

Like a blind kitten, Ed turned toward the gesture, nuzzling his hand and trapping it beneath his cheek so Roy wouldn't escape. "Please," he begged. "Please . . . don't go, Dad."

Ed was dreaming or hallucinating, or maybe both. Did he actually think Roy was his father?

Roy didn't know much about Ed's past, aside from that key incident that landed him in Roy's life. He did know that Hoenheim had left when the boys were very young and Ed had made no secret his feelings for the man. His nicknames for his father rivaled those he had graced Roy with in their colorfulness and creativity, and the thought of the anguish that man had caused Ed and Al made Roy more than a little angry himself. He assured himself that the man had his reasons, but could have been worth destroying his family for?

"I'm not your father, kid," Roy sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the mattress while Ed held his hand hostage. His back was going to hurt in a few minutes, but he wasn't ready to take that small comfort from Ed just yet.

Much to Roy's dismay, the words seemed to distress Ed further. His closed eyes screwed up even tighter and more tears leaked out. "Don't . . . I'm sorry . . . Then stay for Al . . . for Mom . . . please. Hate me, but . . . they need you. I can't . . . do it alone . . . I'm sorry . . . Don't go . . ."

The words hurt Roy in a way he wasn't accustomed to. Physical pain he could deal with; it had a source and a visible end. But this emotional pain . . . what Ed was going through, had been going through for years . . . Roy couldn't fix it, couldn't stop it if he tried.

"It's okay, Ed," Roy murmured, rubbing his cheek with his calloused thumb. "I'm here. You don't have to be alone." He choked on the end of that sentence, emotion strangling his words in his throat.

"Promise . . . promise . . ."

Roy hesitated. "I promise," he murmured.

"I'm sorry!" the boy wailed, the sudden increase in volume causing Roy to jerk back, taking his hand with him. That certainly didn't help matters. The loss of contact sent Ed into fitful thrashing as he searched for the lost sensation, his head turning this way and that while his body was restrained by all of that fabric.

Roy wasted no time in leaping from his chair. If Ed kept on like that, he would hurt himself for sure! Not certain what else to do, he gently pressed his hands against the boy's mismatched shoulders. "Shh, Ed, it's okay. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Shh," he said, careful to keep his voice low and calm.

The moment the contact was restored, Ed visibly relaxed, the frown on his face easing into something slightly less troubled and his struggling ceased. He turned his head, trying to get even closer. "Don't leave . . . don't leave . . ." Tears rolled down his face at a more sedate pace, one dropping to slide across Roy's bare knuckles.

Roy didn't dare pull back this time. Instead, he lifted himself behind Ed, propping his back against the headboard and settling in. "I know you'll kill me for this later," Roy said, gripping Ed under his arms and pulling until he had his upper body situated in his lap. "But I think you need this now."

The boy curled in on himself on top of Roy's legs, his flesh hand gripping Roy's sleeve fiercely. Roy didn't complain, though. He leaned his head back against the headboard, making himself as comfortable as he could for what was certain to be long night.

"I'm sorry . . ." Ed continued his babbling. "Promise . . . promise . . . Can't do it . . . not alone . . . promise . . ."

Roy didn't hesitate this time. "I promise."

And he meant it.

* * *

_I'm not pacing myself very well . . . this is just too much fun to write xD_

_Anyways, probably one more chapter and it'll be a wrap. You guys are fantastic! Thank you so much for your kind reviews and comments! I'm so glad you're enjoying this!_

_Drop a review if you'd like. I love hearing from you :)_

_God Bless,_

_-RainFlame_


	4. Chapter 4

_Ed dreamed._

_He dreamed about his mother and Al, and being at home. He dreamed about dinner at Winry's house and snowball fights with Al, bedtime stories and thunderstorms spent safe in his mother's arms._

_And he dreamed about his father. Hoenheim was with them at breakfast and birthday parties, tucking them in at night and playing catch in the backyard._

_Then his father left, and he begged him not to go, and when Hoenheim turned around, his face was replaced with Roy Mustang's, and Ed wondered why the Colonel was teaching his four-year-old self how to fish._

_But those memories and dreams were slowly being crushed by a wave of darkness. It clouded the summer sky, washing away the images and bearing down upon them all until he couldn't make out anything and reality began tugging at him insistently, making his whole being throb and hurt . . ._

The visions of his mind were quickly forgotten as Ed became truly aware of the pain.

A lot of pain.

So much so that it dragged his mind from the depths of unconsciousness, nudging him and irritating him enough that he finally relented and woke up.

Ugh. He felt like he had been hit by a train. His whole body was stiff and sore, and he could feel a very distinct stinging sensation around his ports, as if they were slowly burning. He just wanted to go back to sleep and disappear under the blanket of oblivion.

Instead, he slowly opened his eyes, allowing them a moment to focus. He was staring ahead at a beige wall with no recognition of it whatsoever. He couldn't remember any specific place with beige walls. And he was lying on . . . this wasn't his dorm bed. His sheets were white, and these were clearly brown. Where was he?

And now that he was on the subject, what had happened? He couldn't remember anything . . .

Oh. Wait. The train, Al, all that snow . . .

Yeah, the last thing he remembered was being buried under the snow.

Now he was in a bed and . . . was someone snoring?

Despite how much his body hurt, he managed to tilt his head back ever so slightly, searching for the source of the noise.

He discovered, much to his confusion, Colonel Roy Mustang behind him, his head tipped back against the headboard and his mouth hanging open slightly. Ed also noted, with a cool sort of detachment, that his own head was pillowed in the older man's lap.

Something about that was wrong. He frowned, his sluggish mind trying to make sense of it. What was it? He thought hard, reexamining the situation carefully . . .

He was lying . . . on Mustang's lap . . .

Ah, yes, that was it.

He shot up as if he had been burned, trying to roll to one side and realizing with panic that there was no arm on that side to catch him. He tumbled over the side of the bed, his automail foot catching in the sheets as he nailed his shoulder port against the floor. The jolt against the metal stung inflamed skin and grated against his very bones, making his head spin and bile rise in his throat.

He didn't move for a moment, opting instead to wait for the world around him to stop the joyride and settle down.

"Fullmetal, what are you doing?!" Mustang's voice shouted, a panicked edge to it. Ed saw bare feet appear on the floor in front of him and warm hands gently wrapped around him and hoisted him back onto the bed.

Ed blinked, fighting back pain, nausea, and his own spinning head so he could get a decent glare in at the colonel. There were about three of them standing before him though, so he wasn't sure if he was actually looking at the right one. Actually, he wasn't even sure that his glare was all that impressive at the moment anyways, so he closed his eyes and leaned back. There would be plenty of time to glare later.

"What are you doing here?" Ed growled instead, lifting his arm to massage his head. When he didn't feel the cool automail on his face, he suddenly remembered the reason he had ended up on the floor in the first place. "And where's my arm?" he demanded with no small amount of irritation.

"First, tell me what you remember," Mustang said, but his voice wasn't brusque and business-like the way Ed expected. There was something gentle there that took Ed by surprise and somehow, gave him some small measure of comfort. It was like the way his mother had spoken to him when he got sick as a little kid.

That just made him even more annoyed. He didn't need to be babied like some kind of invalid! He didn't ask for Mustang's help!

"I remember the snowstorm . . . we were out walking in it and . . . wait, where's Al?" he demanded, his eyes flying wide open. "Al!" he called, heart racing. Where was his brother?! He had been so mad last night, did he just leave Ed behind?

Fear clutched at his heart, making it hard to breathe. If he had been that mad, maybe he had left Ed for good. Ed couldn't blame him after all he had put him through, but that didn't stop the drowning feeling he was suddenly experiencing. "AL!"

"Shh, Ed!" Mustang said, laying a firm hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "It's okay, Ed, Al's fine. He's around the house somewhere."

Those words, coupled with the reassuring hand seemed somehow like the most comforting thing Ed had ever experienced. The drowning feeling slowly melted away and he took in a shuddering breath. "Oh. Oh, good," he said, the words sounding feeble and breathy and he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He hated losing control of himself, especially in front of Colonel Idiot. It was probably just the pain. "Good," he repeated, struggling for something else to say, something to cover up his slip, but nothing came to mind.

Mustang pulled back, taking his hand with him and for some stupid reason, Ed ached for the lost contact.

A memory sparked to life at the notion, something that had happened last night . . .

_"Dad . . ."_

Oh . . . no . . . by the Gate, no.

No.

_NO._

He did not remember what he thought he remembered. That was not possible. Even if he was hallucinating and delirious, he would never _ever_ say that! Not to Mustang!

His cheeks were on fire.

"Fullmetal?"

"Shut up! What are you doing here?!" he shouted, calling on his familiar temper to smooth over his embarrassment. Anything was better than . . . oh, he wanted to die. That shouldn't be too hard to manage, should it? Enough people wanted to kill him. Even the snow wanted to kill him.

Mustang interrupted his silent pleas, stepping up to stand in his line of view with a scowl in place. "The better question would be, what are _you_ doing here?" Mustang said, his voice all high-and-mighty. The conceited jerk. "This is my house. Al brought you here last night. Do you know what he told me?" he asked, his voice turning dangerous enough to make Ed uncomfortable. "He told me that you knew there was a storm blowing in, yet you decided to walk all the way to Central anyway. And then you go and get buried in the snow, scare Al half to death and we've had to be up babysitting you all night long!"

Ed returned his glare with equal venom. "I didn't ask for your help! It's none of your business if I die or not!" he yelled, making his own head spin with the volume, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. "You'd just find some other lapdog to do your bidding if I did, so just lay off!"

Somewhere during the course of Ed's outburst, Mustang's anger melted away from his face, leaving something raw in its wake. His dark eyes widened ever so slightly and his jaw went slack. He looked almost . . . hurt . . .

The look was gone almost as suddenly as it had arrived and a furious glower settled in its place. The fact that it was directed at Ed made him feel small and vulnerable and stirred up an almost primal need to protect himself. He suddenly wished that he wasn't lying down with one arm missing.

"Shut up," Mustang hissed, his voice embodying all the foreboding of the calm before a storm. Mustang kept his voice low and dangerous and Ed was made painfully aware of one of the reasons that Mustang was such a formidable opponent: he was scary when he was mad. "You know good and well that's not how it is, so just shut up."

Ed shut his mouth, displaying once again his growing sense of tactfulness.

What was his problem? This wasn't how this was supposed to work . . . they were supposed to argue. Mustang was supposed to make short jokes, Ed was supposed to blow up, then Mustang would smirk in his holier-than-thou manner and hack Ed off even more. It was a familiar dance, one they had performed hundreds of times, so why was Mustang ruining it now?

"What are you—" Ed began, but Mustang cut him off.

"I actually thought you were _dead_ when Al brought you to the door. Do you have any idea how worried Al was? How worried _I_ was?" he demanded, dark eyes flashing with emphasis and his lip curling in a snarl. "You think you can just pull a stunt like that, then pretend that nothing happened? Don't you dare pretend that was nothing, and don't you dare pretend that I don't care if you're dead or alive, do you hear me?!"

Ed blinked at his superior officer. Had he really scared everyone that badly? Maybe he was going too far this time in his accusations . . .

He knew that Mustang cared about his and Al's wellbeing on some level. At first, he was convinced that he only cared as far as Ed could take his military career, but over time, Ed started to sense that that was changing. Mustang seemed to take an annoying, almost parental interest in his and Al's whereabouts and personal lives. Ed did his best to ignore it, even when Mustang did a lousy job of hiding it, but sometimes, being a genius had its drawbacks and Ed couldn't help but see it.

Well, maybe he was only a partial genius. When it came to being socially adept, Ed was an apparent moron.

Mustang didn't say anything for a long time. He didn't even look at Ed. He slowly sat down in the chair by the bed and stared at his hands, his eyes obscured by dark bangs and his mouth a hard line.

Ed shifted uncomfortably, wishing that Mustang would either say something or leave. He hurt too much to deal with this right now! How was he supposed to fix this if he couldn't even think straight?

Fine. If Mustang wanted to be that way, that was just fine.

Ed didn't need him. He could find Al and his arm all by himself, blast it.

Ed kicked off the sheets, then shot a furtive look in Mustang's direction. He didn't even twitch. So far so good.

Now that he was much better prepared for the motion, Ed rolled to the side, hissing at the sudden pressure on his automail port, then he was over the side of the bed and balanced on his flesh foot.

"Fullmetal, what do you think you're doing?" Mustang demanded. Ed chanced a look in his direction. He hadn't moved except to stare up at him through a layer of dark bangs. So he was still mad at him.

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving!" he announced.

"You're going to fall."

"Am not!" Ed retorted, steadying himself on the nightstand. He slowly shifted his real leg forward, letting the weakened limb accept his weight. "I can walk fine, Mustang!" he said with a cocky grin. This was a piece of cake! He didn't know why Mustang was making such a big deal out of it—

Suddenly, his automail gave a plaintive whine and agony shot through his whole leg, the feeling painfully reminiscent of when the very port was being installed. Ed stifled a pained yelp as his vision went white around the edges and tried to rock back onto his real leg, only to overcorrect with the loss of his right arm and end up falling flat on his face for the second time in ten minutes.

"Told you."

"Shut up, Colonel," Ed ground out into the carpet.

His vision was swimming again, making nauseating patterns out of the images before him. Ed didn't have any intention of getting up for a minute or two, so he contented himself with studying the space under Mustang's bed. Something was interrupting his view, though, and it only took him a moment to realize it was a sleeve. The sleeve to an ugly maroon sweater that had somehow found its way onto Ed's torso. Wait, not even the pants were his . . .

He did _not_ want to think about those implications.

He heard soft treading on the carpet and glanced up at the Colonel hovering five feet above him. "Need some help?" he asked, that stupid smirk back on his face. Ed didn't want to admit how relieved he was to see it.

It meant that he was forgiven.

"No. I'll do it myself," he grunted.

"Suit yourself. Just know that you probably have frostbite on both those ports. It's probably going to hurt. A lot," he added, almost sympathetically.

Ed had never had frostbite before, but he had seen pictures. He didn't want to think about that, either.

Mustang glanced at the wall clock. "It's almost eight. I'll go make us some breakfast. Hopefully you'll be there by lunch?"

"Shut it, Mustang! I'll be there ten minutes tops!"

"That's good to hear, because as soon as that's done, I'm taking you to the hospital."

"W-what?!" Ed stammered. "What for?"

"Just to make sure everything checks out." Mustang turned to leave, talking over his shoulder as he left. "Need to make sure your brain didn't freeze." Ed sputtered at the insult, but Mustang ignored him. "And the cold has a tendency to make things shrink, and if you get any shorter, you're going to need stilts."

"I'M NOT SHORT!"

Actually, it took Ed a full thirty minutes to make it down for breakfast.

It hadn't taken him that long (only four more falls) to give up on the notion of walking to the kitchen. It hurt too much, and it seemed the automail simply wouldn't support him, be it from the damage to his skin around the port, or from malfunction in the automail itself. He was kind of hoping for the former, since the later would probably get him a wrench to his skull . Either way, he wasn't about to call for that idiot Colonel's help, and he wasn't even sure if he and Al were on speaking terms at the moment, so it looked like he was crawling to breakfast.

"Stupid Colonel and his stupid house," he grunted, dragging himself with one arm and one leg while his useless automail trailed behind. "Why's it so far to his stupid kitchen? Who needs hallways this long?!"

"Brother! What are you doing?"

He looked up to see Al standing at the other end of the hall, and was suddenly, acutely aware of how ridiculous he looked.

But his embarrassment was quickly obscured by a dark thought tugging at the back of his mind as he watched his brother approach. It was a bit irrational, but Ed couldn't shake it nonetheless.

The last thing he remembered was Al's cold back walking away from him in the snow. Sure, maybe he couldn't just leave Ed out there to die, but what if Al was still mad at him? He had almost lost his little brother once over a seemingly small issue like this.

What if Al was harboring those same feelings now?

_What if he hates me?_

Ed wasn't sure if he could live with that.

Al started wringing his hands over Ed's head. "Oh, Ed, are you okay? Why are you on the floor?! The Colonel just told me you were awake, I was down in his basement, and I'm so sorry! I should have been there when you woke up, but I just didn't think and he had so many books and I thought maybe I could find something on the Philosopher's Stone, but I know I should have been up here—"

Ed laughed.

He laughed so hard that his arm wouldn't support him and he had to roll over on his back, his whole aching body shaking with hysteric guffaws.

He couldn't explain why, except that he was just so _relieved_. All of his doubt vanished during Al's stumbling apologies, and Ed was so happy he couldn't get a breath in.

Al didn't hate him. They were going to be okay.

"Ed?" Al asked, obviously concerned. "Are you okay?"

Ed wiped a tear from his eye with a too-long sleeve. "I'm fine, Al," he finally managed to gasp. "Just fine."

Ed was finally able to get a hold of himself, and with Al's help, they made it to the kitchen to see Mustang almost finished with his bacon and eggs, a full plate sitting untouched beside him. "Well, well, Fullmetal. That was the longest ten minutes I've ever seen. Looks like you needed some help after all," he smirked.

Always with the smirking.

"Shut up!" Ed screeched from his perch on Al's shoulder (because he simply _refused_ to be carried bridal-style when there was a chance Colonel Idiot could witness it).

"That height looks good on you, Edward. We're almost eyelevel now."

"When I get my arm back, I'm bludgeoning you to death with it!"

"Did you know you can be court martialed for threatening a superior officer?"

"That won't save your smug face!"

Al set his brother down at the table amidst the flurry of insults, where Ed dived into his meal enthusiastically. He exchanged more unpleasantries with Mustang as he inhaled his food before his temper cooled off a bit and conversation turned toward more amiable subjects, like how their mission had gone, what the guys at the office were up to, and even the snow outside, which was piled up four feet in some places and now coming down in a gentle dusting.

Despite the weather, the half-hearted insults, and how much his body just plain hurt, there was a strange peace here in Mustang's kitchen, something warm and nostalgic that Ed couldn't quite place. It was almost like when he and Al went home to visit the Rockbells, or when they had dinner at Hughes' house. Maybe there was even something more to it.

And as they sat there, all three of them, Ed was struck with a memory from childhood. Sometimes when their mom went out of town, Hoenheim made them breakfast, just like this. It would be the three of them, talking about anything and everything, like why the sky was blue, and plans for snowball fights as soon as the first snow fell.

They never had that snowball fight, though. Hoenheim left before it could snow.

Despite the air of disappointment and bitterness surrounding the memories, he couldn't remember another time that he felt as safe and content.

Except for maybe now.

"I'm not all that surprised he got buried in the snow, really," Mustang was saying as he poured another cup of coffee. "We almost lost him that time the maintenance crew went on strike and the lawn grew four inches."

"I TAKE BACK EVERY NICE THOUGHT I EVER HAD ABOUT YOU!"

* * *

Well, I can't say that I'm thrilled with this chapter, but it was overdue, and I was tired of messing with it lol. I like some things, though, so guess that's worth something?

I know I've said this for the past two chapters, but only one more to go lol. I think I actually mean it this time xD

To the people that faved this, the people following, and especially you reviewers, thank you so so much for your support! You've all been a real encouragement to me and have helped me keep writing, even when I decided that I would rather organize my sock drawer than type another sentence C: You guys are the best.

In case you're interested, I did some fan art for a scene from the last chapter :D You can find the link on my profile :)

Drop a review, if it suites you! Love hearing from you guys :)

God Bless,

-RainFlame


	5. Chapter 5

The door to his office opened with a familiar _crack!_ of the knob smashing into the wall behind it. Only one person entered his office with such impunity, so Roy didn't feel the need to lift his eyes from the stack of papers Riza had so graciously offered as an alternative to being shot. Honestly, the bullet was starting to look more and more appealing. His hand was about to fall off.

"I see you got your leg working again," Mustang said, signing off on another paper with half-hearted flourish. It was only a day after his day off, which, frankly, wasn't much of a day off. Mustang certainly did not consider babysitting the Elrics a day off.

Not that the experience had been all bad. There were even some moments that were almost enjoyable, like when they played cards, and Ed kicked his rear in chess, and Roy taught the boys the proper way to make a lasagna. He even managed to sneak down to his basement to do some research for an hour or so.

But putting up with Ed for any extended amount of time is a chore, regardless of how amiable he was being. And Ed was rarely, if ever, amiable.

Except for now, apparently. He was awfully chipper this morning . Roy wondered if he had seen his orders yet.

"Yup!" Ed chirped, stepping up to Mustang's desk and lifting himself to sit on the edge. "It wasn't too hard to figure out, just a couple of wires that got messed up in the ice, but I found some material to transmute into them. Good as new, and more importantly, Winry will be none the wiser."

Roy glanced up from his papers to study the boy. He looked even better than he had yesterday. They had made it to the hospital late that afternoon, once the sun had come out and taken the edge off the snow. The doctors gave him some ointment for his frostbite and gave him a clean bill of health.

Then, Ed had asked Roy for help in a way that both touched and terrified him.

_"I . . . I need some help."_

_Roy glanced up from the book in his hands. Ed was standing at the top of the stairs in the doorway of his basement, staring at his bare feet with his only arm holding onto his detached prosthetic limb. His face was a bit strained, as if he were in pain. It was probably from the frostbite, not to mention the way his leg had been bothering him all day. He had tinkered with the machine earlier that morning and was somewhat able to walk on it now, albeit with a noticeable limp. Maybe Roy should go find the kid some ibuprofen or something. "Al can't get it to work. His hands are too big, and I can't really do it by myself . . ."_

_Roy blinked at him. He wanted Roy to help him with his automail?_

_Except for Al, there was very little that Ed was more protective of than his automail, especially the connection of it. He wouldn't even let the staff at the hospital connect it. Roy had never seen or witnessed it, but it had been described as one of the most painful things the human body could go through while retaining consciousness. It was going to cause Ed an undue amount of pain, and he was going to let Roy be there for it. Roy understood in that moment the level of trust Ed had placed in him._

_For some reason, it was terrifying._

_"Are you sure you want me to do that?" he asked, eyeing the limb as if it were an armed bomb._

_"Come on, Mustang, don't be a wimp," Ed sighed waving the arm as he lectured. "It's not like it's going to hurt _you_."_

_"That's not who I'm worried about hurting," Roy muttered. "Haven't you put your body through enough for today? Why don't we wait until tomorrow—?"_

_Ed's temper flared. "Look, I'm not going to stick around here another hour without at least three functional limbs! Are you going to help me, or not?"_

_Roy sighed. It was obvious the kid was frustrated with the whole situation, and he couldn't blame him. Having only one arm made even the most mundane of tasks into an ordeal, as Roy quickly learned over course of the morning. That combined with an only half-functioning leg had put Ed into an even worse mood than usual as the day had worn on. If nothing else, Roy had to help him before he went and hurt himself._

_Roy gave the kid a deliberate stare before slowly placing his fire alchemy book aside and leaving his comfortable chair. "Fine," Roy grunted as he made his way up the stairs, cursing his sore back under his breath and the blond alchemist responsible for it. All those hours propped up against a headboard . . . ugh. "I'll help you with your automail." _

_Something flickered across Ed's face, possibly relief, but it disappeared quickly and settled into firm resolve. "Okay, here, take this," he said, shoving the device into Roy's arms once he was in range._

_He took the awkward bundle, not entirely sure how to hold it. It was bulky and surprisingly heavy. "I'm starting to understand why you're so short, Fullmetal."_

_Ed narrowed his eyes. "Shut up. Just pay attention."_

_Roy did. Very rapt attention. Automail was something that was completely foreign to him. Ed was the first person he had ever known that had automail, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit curious about it._

_Well, that and scared. He wanted to make sure he didn't mess this up._

_"—then you just twist it and then _quickly_ snap the cinch. Got that? _Quickly_!"_

_Roy nodded. He completely understood. If he screwed this up, Ed would probably murder him. Or Ed would pass out and murder him later._

_And since his heart was probably weak after what had happened last night, there was a whole new reason to be paranoid._

_Not to mention that Ed was trusting him with it. _Him_ of all people! And after their conversation that morning, it almost seemed to be opening another side to their relationship. Roy wasn't sure if Ed would have asked him to do something like this a week ago, and he knew that if he screwed this up, some small part of that trust would be shattered, and Roy wasn't sure if there would be an opportunity to get it back._

Don't screw this up, Roy.

_Ed took a seat on the first step, an awkward move, given how his leg whined and halted as he tried to lower himself. With an impatient huff he simply fell back on his rear. "Stupid automail," he grunted._

_Roy sat down next to him, eying the port with no small amount of trepidation. _

_"Well?" Ed asked with an impatient huff. "You going to fix it or just stare at it?"_

_Roy gripped the arm in both hands, holding it steady despite a bead of sweat that dripped down the side of his face. He carefully placed the joint inside the port, watching Ed's face as it disappeared inside the mechanism. Ed gave no reaction, his eyes staring in front of him in an almost trance-like fashion. Roy had never seen him conscious and so still._

_"So, does this stuff break much?" Roy asked, hoping the conversation might help alleviate some of the severe pain he was about to cause. He twisted the arm, hearing it click into place like Ed had described and feeling a twinge of nausea. He wasn't sure how Ed did this. . ._

_"Nah. Winry makes good automail. The best there is. I'm just . . . a bit reckless I guess."_

_Roy's lip quirked in a wry grin. "That's one way to put it."_

_Ed frowned. "I didn't ask for your opinion," he growled, but Roy sensed no heat in the words._

_"Maybe you should be more careful."_

_The words escaped Roy before he had a chance to think about them. He immediately wished he could take them back. There was no telling what kind of rant Ed was going to launch into now about how Roy wasn't his father, how he needed to mind his own business, or something similar._

_But instead of the fireworks Roy had tensed for, Ed frowned. That was it. Just frowned and kept staring ahead at the wall. Roy wondered what he was thinking to make him so docile. He put his hand on the cinch, readying himself to flip it and cause Ed a world of hurt._

_"Did you ever know your father?" _

_Roy jumped at the sudden question, yanking his hand back from the lever. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in. His father? "No, not really," he admitted, curious as to where the question had come from. "I was three when he and my mother were killed."_

_Roy watched Ed's face out of the corner of his eye while he absorbed that. "Was there ever someone that . . . that was like a father to you?"_

_Roy thought a moment. "I suppose Hawkeye's father was the closest thing I had to one."_

_Ed nodded, as if that information were somehow important. After a second, though, his gaze sharpened and he glanced down at his shoulder with an irritated frown. "Are you going to connect it, or not?"_

_Roy nodded, steeled himself and quickly flipped the lever._

_It was as if lightning struck Ed's body; Ed went ramrod straight, every muscle contracting and a strangled scream tearing past his clenched teeth. His eyes screwed shut and pained tears leaked out at the corners as he cried out and gasped for breath at the same time._

_Not sure what else to do, Roy rubbed his back in a tight, circular motion and struggled to not be sick at the sight. _

_Kids shouldn't have to go through that._

Ed shouldn't have to go through that.

_It was only seconds, but it seemed like an eternity later before the screaming finally stopped and Ed's weak body collapsed back into Roy's arms. He was breathing hard, and sweat glistened on his face. His golden eyes stared blearily at the ceiling. "I'm . . . I'm gonna pass out now," he informed Roy very matter-of-factly before his eyes closed and he went limp in Roy's grip._

_Roy stared down at the child in his arms. "Stupid brat," he murmured softly, wiping away the tears with a gentle hand. "What are you boys doing to me?"_

"Colonel, are you even listening?"

Roy blinked, focusing once again on the boy in front of him. "What was that?"

Ed picked up a piece of paper from his desk and waved it in front of Roy's face. "My report?"

Something caught his eye. Roy snatched the official document from the blond's grasp and stared at it in disbelief. "Fullmetal . . . is this _crayon_?"

"Yep."

"You wrote . . . an official report . . . in _crayon?!_"

"Blue's your favorite color, right?" Ed grinned, leaping of the desk with flourish.

"Fullmetal," Roy growled, looking from the paper to Ed. "This isn't even legible!"

"At least it's not half burned this time. And there are no food stains on it, either, just like you ordered," Ed retorted smugly, waltzing toward the door. "The paper's not even wrinkled!"

"Well, that certainly _is_ something," Roy muttered, massaging his brow to ward off a headache. Ed always knew just how to bring them on.

"Oh, another thing, Colonel," Ed said, stopping by the door.

"What is it?" Roy growled, eyes already back on his paperwork.

"You . . . you wouldn't make such a bad father," Ed said casually. So casually that Roy did a double take. He blinked, looking up to see if he had heard right.

Ed tossed an impish grin over his shoulder. "If you weren't such an idiot, that is."

Roy knew a compliment when he heard one, and that was perhaps the closest Ed ever got to giving one. Mustang recognized what it meant for Ed to put himself on the line like that; to show a vulnerability, no matter how small. And in that moment, Mustang had never felt so elated. Instead of leaping for joy though, he only offered a smirk. "Thank you, Fullmetal."

Ed turned away quickly and left, much more quietly than he had arrived.

Despite the cold and the paperwork and the pain in his hand, Mustang spent the rest of the day beaming.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Ed traipsed out of Central Headquarters to find Al sitting on the steps in the middle of the snow, probably lost in thought. He stopped in front of his little brother to get his attention, yawning and stretching his real arm languidly over his head before a shiver ran up his spine. He had decided over the past couple of days that he hated the cold. More specifically, snow. "Alright Al, let's go."

Al looked up at his brother and clambered to his feet. "Where to?" he asked, brushing the snow from his metal body.

Ed grinned, waving the orders Hawkeye had passed along to him at his little brother. "Looks like Mustang wants us to check out some land divisions."

"You sound awfully excited about that," Al pointed out with suspicion out as they made their careful way down the icy steps. "Where at?"

"Resembool."

Al turned sharply, and though he didn't have a face to broadcast his emotions from, Ed could tell he lit up like a Christmas tree. "You mean it? We're going home?!"

Ed's grin broadened. "Yep. Seems like the Colonel thinks we need some downtime. Probably because we were stuck in his house all day. That'll drive anyone crazy."

"I didn't think it was so bad," Al offered, a smile in his voice. "It was almost fun."

"Yeah. _Almost_ being the operative word," Ed said with an irritated scowl, yanking his coat up to cover his neck.

Actually, it hadn't been that bad, considering it was the Colonel.

Ed might even venture to say that it was almost enjoyable.

Almost.

Al didn't say anything for a while, content to keep his thoughts to himself as Ed led them through the snow and up the busy streets of Central. Then, Al asked, "Was that what it was like? When Dad was home?" The question was meek and tentative, as if Al were afraid Ed would blow up at the mere mention of their father.

But Ed didn't feel the rush of anger he usually did at the mention of Hoenheim. Instead of the raw pain he was accustomed to feeling, he felt a dull ache, like an old injury in the cold; small enough to ignore, eclipsed by something warm and safe.

Mustang.

Mustang could certainly be a pain, but when it came down to it, he was there when it counted. Maybe that was enough.

Ed offered Al a small smile. "Almost."

Almost was good enough for him.

_**End**_

* * *

It is done . . .

No, it wasn't an epilogue. It was it's own chapter lol.

Whew! Hope you guys enjoyed! I know this was a blast to write xD Hope you have warm fuzzies now. I do c:

Again, thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and kind comments while I was writing this! It's been awesome! I already have a couple of other FMA fics in the works, so hopefully I'll see you guys next time ;)

God Bless,

-RainFlame


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